Shakespeares Sonnets Re-done
Contents:
Skin is never as white as snow, or as lilies, or as enchanting as Cytherea's, therefore to countermand the extravagant claims of other poets by a simple declaration of something closer to reality might jolt everyone to a truer appraisal of love and the experience of loving. Her cheeks have roses growing in them.
Note the similes which equate skin with lilies, lips with rubies, breath with all perfumes, eyes with the lights of heaven, and the whole apparition with Venus. For her own person, It beggar'd all description: Lady, you are the cruellest she alive. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; A traditional comparison. Shakespeare uses it himself in the sonnets to the youth: Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, 49 2.
Coral is far more red, than her lips red: Coral - In Shakespeare's day only the red variety would have been generally available.
Shakespeare's Sonnets Re-Done by Bruce Hamilton (2005, Paperback)
Historically, and in earlier literature and folk-lore, the name belongs to the beautiful red coral , an arborescent species, found in the Red Sea and Mediterranean, prized from times of antiquity for ornamental purposes, and often classed among precious stones. The comparison of lips with coral was commonplace. If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
If hairs be wires - hair was often compared to golden wires or threads, as in the sonnet by Bartholomew Griffin given above. A Renaissance reader would not have visualised wire as an industrial object. Its main use at the time would have been in jewellery and lavish embroidery. The shock here is not in the wires themselves a sign of beauty but in the fact that they are black. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, White, red and damasked are the first three varieties of rose described in Gerard's Herbal, and it appears that there were only these three colours.
See the commentary to Sonnet The damask rose was pinkish coloured. This is Gerard's description: The common Damaske Rose in stature, prickely branches, and in other respects is like the white Rose; the especiall difference consists in the colour and smell of the flours: But no such roses see I in her cheeks; SB, p. And in some perfumes is there more delight In the traditional world of sonneteering the beloved's breath smelled sweeter than all perfumes. It was part of the courtly tradition of love to declare and believe that the goddess whom one adored had virtually no human qualities.
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All her qualities were divine. Compare, for example, the following from Cymbeline, one of Shakespeare's later plays c. Cytherea How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily, And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagoned, How dearly they do't! Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. The word was not as suggestive of foetid exhalations as it is now.
However, even from an early date, it tended to be associated with steamy, sweaty and unsavoury smells. The original meaning seems to have been 'to emit smoke', a meaning which is still retained in the Scottish expression 'Long may your lang reek'. There seems to be little doubt that Shakespeare could have used a gentler and more flattering word if he wished to imply that his mistress was a paragon of earthly delights.
1 184,06 RUB
The expression is on a par with the earlier descriptions of dun breasts and hair made of black wire. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know See note below. That music hath a far more pleasing sound: Curiously, these two lines almost express the opposite of their exact meaning.
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS RE-DONE consists of all of the sonnets William Shakespeare sent down to us; however, those items have been given some. He has "translated" Shakespeare's sonnets and he has done so with an Shakespeare's sonnets are some of the nation's favourite lines of verse, but the.
One is tempted to read 'I love to hear her speak, for the sound is far more pleasing than music to my ear'. In fact that is almost a stronger meaning than the superficial and more obvious one, because the declaration that he loves to hear her surmounts the obstacle of his prior knowledge that music might be better. Leave all for love: Yet hear me yet, One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavour: Keep thee today, Tomorrow, for ever, Free as an Arab Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid, But when the surprise First vague shadow of surmise Flits across her bosom young, Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy free; Nor thou detain her vesture's hem. Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem. Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay; Though her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive, Heartily know, When half-gods go The gods arrive. I am here Inezilda, I am her 'neath your room. All wrapped is Sevilla In mists and in gloom.
With my cloak close around me, And more bolder than doom, My guitar and my bright sword Shine out 'neath your room. With my songs I will sing you awake. If the old man should stumble here, Then my rapier I'll slake.
These soft silken nooses To your balcony tie. Why delay, why be clumsy - Is a rival nearby? All shrouded is Sevilla In mists and in gloom. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. If seas were infinite, my love would be Yet greater still and more profound; If roads led to eternity Even there it would be found.
Stars, sunshine, the night, the day Are images of something better, But words, thoughts, fire, water and clay Can never my true love fetter. Laugh then, and be yourself, but give Me, my dear sweet, one kiss - The gods that on Olympus live Have never known such bliss. My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for another given: I hold his dear and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: I love you so, I know it's madness, I know it's toil and shameful vanity, I know its vast stupidity, But here at your knees I must confess.
It does not suit my looks or years, It's more than time I should be wise, But by all the signs I recognise The pain of love, its sighs and tears.
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Without you, I am lost, I yawn, When you are near I'm melancholy, I want to speak, the words are gone, My angel, you are all that's holy! When from the hall I hear the sound Of your soft footstep, or your dress, Or your sweet voice's innocence, My heart crumbles, I am all a mess. If you should smile - it's heaven for me, You turn away - it seems eternity; In days of sadness, the only solace, Is your pale hand, or your sweet face.
When at the sewing frame you sit Diligently bending over it, Your hair and eyelids lowering, Then in amazement I sit wondering, Tenderly, silently, like a child. Should I then tell you of my grief? What use to you would be my talk, My jealous love, my awkwardness, When, on a clouded day, you dress To take a stroll or lengthy walk? Your tears when all alone you stray, Or sometimes when we talk together, Your journeys out in wind and weather, At the piano when you sit and play, I love it all. Alina dearest, Have pity on me, sweet, I pray, I dare not ask for love, I may not, Perhaps I am not worthy of it, My angel, for my sins forbid it.
For your glance so holy Always could wondrously prove love. Deceive me then, by the heavens above I yearn for it, I die, your look alone will save me. There is a Lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind, I did but see her passing by And yet I love her till I die. Her gesture, motion and her smiles, Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart I know not why, And yet I love her till I die.
Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part, No, nor for a constant heart. For these may fail or turn to ill, So thou and I shall sever. Keep therefore a true woman's eye And love me still but know not why, So hast thou the same reason still To dote upon me ever. Will I still write with you around? Just now I wrote: Love cannot be contained. Resort to force, it vanishes, sucked inwards to its source; dodges, watching and wary; or takes wing, soars out of reach.
Once I tried arguing with it - and won - then choked on thick remorse. You've got more sense! In love you seem to glide, find airy pathways no-one else has tried, while both your feet stay firmly on the ground. In love you're flesh and blood and yet your eyes, the movements of your head, tell otherwise. That's why I can - must - write with you around. There was a time when sad was sad, elation was elation: Today we know it's all down to the weather. This sunshine's why you feel this way today about a neighbour you've known all this while.
Let's face it, nothing else has changed. The way she does her hair's the same. Her childlike smile, her sometimes haunted look, her mode of dress, her accent, gestures, preference for jazz to pop or classical - all more or less the same. What power the weather has! And it could change again, and what you thought was love dissolve in rain.
The years speed by Remorselessly, Each bearing a fragment of our past, Like broken glass.
And so do we. One day upon another treads Unceasingly, Like sheep with undistinguishable heads Crowding together One on another. Minute by minute Uncountably, Like raindrops upon the horizon's limit Or waves of the sea, Our short lives pass imperceptibly. Against the advancing, bracing tide Our love shall stand On beaches unfathomably wide Where shell heaps on shell and sand meets sand, With towering cliffs that the elements hide And lines of waves that the waves efface,.
Yet shall our footsteps together trace A path as we travel it hand in hand, That vast immeasurable strand, Planting a kiss upon its face, One for you and yet one for me Defiantly. So shall it be. Cupid Bound by Nymphs. Stipple engraving by W. Ryland after Angelica Kauffmann. Love poems Various authors Provided originally for St. Valentine's Day This selection of love poems offered is not by any means comprehensive or all inclusive - for how could it be? In Praise of Beauty Of all my loves this is the first and last That in the autumn of my years has grown, A secret fern, a violet in the grass, A final leaf where all the rest are gone.
Campion, circa Shall I come, sweet love! Or else it will plain and then appear ; But rather restore it mannerly, Since that I do ask it thus honestly ; For to lose it, it sitteth me too near; Help me to seek. To Julia Why I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this silken twist, For what other reason is't But to show thee how, in part, Thou my pretty captive art?
To Chloe, who for his sake wished herself younger There are two births: From an old chap-book If seas were infinite, my love would be Yet greater still and more profound; If roads led to eternity Even there it would be found. As you move to make it Intercept with your hair The sun By chance. When the phone rings Tell them you're busy Tell them you'll ring back In two hours.
Sit close Talk to me Ask me all about me Listen astonished. Understand Say it wasn't my fault Touch my arm Look at me that way again. Afterwards Let me go If I want to.